


tell me, what's your november (is it a person)

by berningice



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bad Boy Renjun, Baseball Player Jaemin, Coming of Age, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Slice of Life, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berningice/pseuds/berningice
Summary: Renjun accidentally climbs into the wrong window one night, and Jaemin wonders how he had managed to worm his way into his heart too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from November by Tyler the Creator
> 
> that song gives me Emotions
> 
> ANYWAYS follow me on twit and feel free to scream at me to update <33 @CBXTENTACION

A rustle. Three taps. A dull thud followed by a muffled curse.

Jaemin blearily opens his eyes and is met with someone staring at him through his window. He nearly smacks his face on the headboard with how quick he is to sit up. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to call the police, but he finds himself frozen in terror, and it takes about three seconds of him watching the the person behind the glass make shushing motions with their hands before he springs into action. 

He roots around on the bed for his cellphone, fingers slipping against the sheets with how sweaty he’s become, and he prays to every god he can think of that the stranger about to violently murder him doesn’t find out. 

It’s as Jaemin shakily slides open the emergency number function that he realizes the stranger is trying to tell him something. They’re waving their hands pacifyingly in front of their face as if to calm Jaemin down (although it seems to be having the opposite effect—the poor boy had all but soiled himself in fear), and they’re mouthing something that Jaemin has to squint to understand.

 _Open the window,_ the stranger says, tapping up a storm on the glass. _Please,_ they add, seemingly as an afterthought, pulling their jacket further around themselves as if they were freezing.

Jaemin takes this time to realize that he’s never actually taken the time to look at this stranger—this man—properly. 

Well, less a man and more a slip of a boy, eyes squinched in exasperation yet droopy in something else, black hair mussed and glinting under the moonlight.

He doesn’t _look_ crazy. He certainly isn’t some depraved murderer jonesing to gut him and his entire family. 

He’s dressed in a flimsy velour jacket totally inappropriate for this time of the year, and there seems to be a tiny spot of blood on his chin from a split on his lip. His features are shadowed by the harsh glow of the streetlight outside his house, but Jaemin can already tell that this boy is his age, perhaps even younger.

The boy shivers and Jaemin hurriedly kicks his comforter off, rushing to unlatch the window. He may be half-asleep and scared as shit, but he isn’t going to be an asshole.

He flings the window open, momentarily forgetting that that someone is leaning their entire weight on the glass, and promptly gets bowled over as the boy abruptly tumbles into his room.

They both crash onto the carpeted floor with an unceremonious _thump,_ and Jaemin scrambles to stand, tensed and ready to flee at any moment.

His surprise guest flops over gracelessly onto his back, groaning in pain. The moonlight sheets over his face and it’s only now that Jaemin realizes how startlingly pretty he is. The boy’s face softens, and as if under a trance, his eyes crack open as he lazily scans the room. His eyes land on a disgruntled Jaemin, and he lazily throws his arms up in the air, stretching as he shoots Jaemin a close-eyed smile. 

“Thanks for letting me in,” mystery boy says, his voice soft and curling oddly around his syllables, suggesting a barely-there accent. “But,” he mumbles, sluggishly sitting up and resting his back against the wall. “I think I’m in the wrong house.”

Jaemin nods in affirmation, still too shaken up to find his voice. It’s understandable; every house on this block is identical, save for the presence of the odd garden gnome or two. It’s not that hard to believe that this kid thought his house was another’s.

“Can I…” Mystery boy trails off, seemingly drawing a blank on what he was going to say. “Can I stay here ‘fr a bit? I was ‘sposed to…to go to Chenle’s house, but instead, I’m here. And I’m kinda tired,” he slurs, snickering a little, and Jaemin confirms that mystery boy is indeed under the influence of something, although exactly what that something was Jaemin couldn’t tell.

Mystery boy blinks up at him, and Jaemin’s met with a vibrant shock of blue; odd for someone of his ethnicity, but not completely impossible. However, the boy blinks again, albeit slower, and he watches the colored contact lenses shift around in his eyes.

There’s something black smudged around his lashes— _eyeliner,_ Jaemin thinks, recalling how his older sister would rub the pencil a little too harshly under his waterline on picture day—and it looks much too old for his delicate features.

Jaemin clears his throat. “You—“ he stutters, voice cracking. “You know Chenle?”

Zhong Chenle was the Chinese kid next door, and being a year younger—and not so fluent in the language—he was never really that close to Jaemin and his group of friends. He’s chill though, and his laugh is funny. They’d sometimes sit side-by-side on Chenle’s porch in the sticky summer heat, eagerly awaiting the ice cream truck that would routinely pass through their neighborhood.

Jaemin usually only saw Chenle hang out with the principal’s kid—Jisung, he thinks—so it comes as a surprise that mystery boy knows who he is, let alone try to sneak into his house.

“Yeah,” mystery boy shrugs, gazing at Jaemin out of the corner of his eye. “He’s my cousin.”

 _Chenle has a cousin?_ Jaemin’s mind supplies. _And a cute one too._ He hurriedly tries to shut down that train of thought before it could go anywhere else.

__

Jaemin toys with the hem of his ratty sleep shirt and musters up the courage to speak. “And you are..?” he asks, eyes warily trained on this boy who had managed to hop his fence and scale the side of his house despite being so heavily inebriated.

__

Mystery boy’s eyebrows are scrunched up in disbelief, and he woozily stabs a finger in Jaemin’s general direction. “You don’t know who I am?” he pouts, growing more incredulous by the second. 

__

Jaemin shakes his head uneasily. He makes it sound like he _should_ know who he is, and he really doesn’t, so he feels kind of stupid.

__

“Should I?” Jaemin asks, moving to sit cross-legged on his bed. He doesn’t know why, but he’s not that nervous. Although mystery boy has been in his room for a grand total of seven minutes, he doesn’t feel dangerous at all. Besides, he’d be too sloshed to even make it across the room.

__

“I’m Renjun. And…” he pauses to jab another finger at Jaemin, a fit of giggles wracking his slight frame. “You’re Jaemin! Right?”

__

Hearing his name come oh-so-familiar from those lips, Jaemin’s blood runs cold. How does he know who he is? Is he a stalker? Was Jaemin right about him being a murderer all along?

__

“How—“ Jaemin breathes, tensing up all over again, before mystery boy—Renjun—claps his hands together, a huge grin on his face.

__

“Baseball!” Renjun exclaims, unsteadily crawling onto his knees and miming someone swinging a bat. “My ex was on the team and I used ‘t watch him play against you guys,” he says, slinging his pretend-bat across his shoulders.

__

_Huh,_ Jaemin thinks, watching Renjun flop onto the carpeted floor with a huff. _He goes to another school._ That explained why Jaemin had no idea who he was; he would’ve spotted a face like that roaming the halls sooner or later.

__

Jaemin gets up from his perch on the edge of his mattress and offers Renjun a drink. Renjun complies with a silly smile on his face, and Jaemin makes his way to his desk where he keeps a pitcher of water and a glass. “So,” he starts, squinting around in the dark for the pitcher and only finding a half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “Where’d you come from?”

__

He hears shuffling and turns to see Renjun plop down on Jaemin’s swivel chair. Jaemin hands Renjun a glass of Cool Blue, which he accepts with a smile and sluggish hands. Jaemin leans his hip against the desk and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

__

Renjun takes small sips and braces his left leg up on the chair. “I just came from a party,” he hums, using his other leg to kick at the floor to spin himself about. “Mark Lee’s party. He goes to your school, I think. D’ya know him?”

__

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, and takes a big gulp of his own drink. “He’s a close friend.”

__

He puts the glass down only to see Renjun scrutinizing him, exaggerated doubt coloring his features. “’A close friend’?” he says, rolling back and forth on his chair. “Why didn’t I see you there, then?”

__

Jaemin shoots him a small smile and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m an athlete, remember? Can’t drink.”

__

Renjun reddens at that— _cute,_ Jaemin thinks, before aggressively willing the voice inside his head to _quiet the fuck down_ —and downs his entire glass. He scoots to the far corner of the room to gently place the glass down on the floor, and rolls back to his place by the window. 

__

Renjun closes his eyes and lolls his head against the backrest of the chair, and Jaemin watches the pale moonlight slope against the gentle curve of his neck. Jaemin swallows, and turns away to direct his gaze at the carpet by Renjun’s sneakers.

__

“Hey,” Renjun suddenly says from his seemingly uncomfortable position. “If you’re tight with Mark, does that mean you’re friends with Donghyuck too?” At Jaemin’s hum, Renjun lifts his head and grins. “I love that guy!”

__

As Renjun starts talking a-mile-a-minute about how earlier in the evening—or morning, Jaemin couldn’t tell—Donghyuck had come onto his math tutor, only to find out that she had a girlfriend.

__

“And all this time—“ Renjun wheezes, chortling to himself at his own story. “All this fucking time, she was _gay!_ Donghyuck never stood a fucking chance!” He wipes the tears from his eyes and shakes his head in amusement.

__

It’s then that Jaemin decides to throw all caution to the wind and shares his own personal experience of being friends with the biggest moron on the planet. He recounts the tale of how Mark, the high school track team’s golden boy, had to run at an official meet with his hair dyed a shocking shade of blonde. “Courtesy of Donghyuck, of course. Mark beat his ass in a couple hours later,” he snickers, flushing at the look of pure delight on Renjun’s face.

__

Renjun winces when he smiles too wide, and Jaemin catches sight of the cut all too visible in the moonlight. “Yo, what’s wrong with your lip?” he questions, unconsciously reaching out to thumb at the wound. Renjun flinches back, face unreadable. Jaemin awkwardly places his hand on his lap instead. “It’s nothing, just hit myself in the face opening the fridge,” Renjun says, giving him a tight-lipped smile. That’s obviously not what happened, but Jaemin chooses not to pry.

__

They talk for what seems to be the whole night—although it couldn't have been more than two hours—and it’s only when Renjun yawns during a lull in conversation does Jaemin think to check the time. _4:58,_ the alarm clock reads, blinking an angry red as if to remind them both of the impending morning ahead. 

__

“Shit,” Renjun exclaims, racing to slip on the jacket he had thrown haphazardly on the floor about an hour ago. “Lele’s parents get up in an hour. I gotta go,” he says, tugging his split lip between his teeth.

__

He stands there, swaying unsteadily on his feet, until Jaemin realizes that he has to let the poor boy out. He hurries to unlatch the window and watches Renjun clamber up onto the ledge and onto the roof tiles. “Hey,” Jaemin finds himself saying. “You sure you’ll be okay?” 

__

Renjun nods, hanging on by his fingers from the pipes lining the roof, but he hesitates, as if he’s waiting for something.

__

The _you can stay here if you want_ lingers at the tip of Jaemin’s tongue, but he can’t seem to say it. He can’t seem to say anything. So he just waves.

__

“See you around,” Renjun says, before letting go and dropping soundlessly onto the grass below.

__

He creeps through Jaemin’s front yard, hops over the gate separating Chenle’s house and his, and Jaemin watches him disappear behind the Zhong’s rosebushes.

__

Jaemin lets out a long sigh.

__

_Wow,_ he thinks, running a hand through his hair. _That was weird._

__

He slides back under the covers and into the comforting warmth of his duvet, but he can’t sleep. He flops onto his back, fingers twitching at his side, and tries counting the water stains on his ceiling. He tries draining the entire bottle of Gatorade, tries doing a couple of push-ups, and even considers sneaking downstairs to microwave a glass of milk all to tire himself out, but to no avail.

__

He lays awake, thoughts running awry in his head, and doesn’t notice when the sun starts to rise.

__


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey nothing much w renjun happens in this chapter but :o the plot thickens

Jaemin squints against the sun that seeps in through the slats in his blinds. He turns over and burrows even deeper in the sheets. He’s almost fallen back into a deep slumber when his alarm starts blaring in his ear. He groans and sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Jaemin loves baseball with his entire heart and soul, but Saturday trainings were just the _worst._ He always has to get up two hours earlier than everyone else in the house, and he is forced to trudge through the stifling heat or the biting cold just to make it to school, which was all the way on the other side of town.

He all but pours out of bed, tripping on the pillow he had kicked onto the floor in his sleep, and drags himself toward the bathroom. He stumbles over a glass— _Renjun’s_ glass—and watches as its remains seep into the carpet around his foot.

He roots around by the sink for his toothbrush, eyes still swollen shut, and flips on the shower with his elbow. He brushes his teeth simultaneously while soaking under the cold spray, and spits out the foam in the shower drain as he rubs his hair dry with a towel. 

He gets dressed as efficiently as possible—if efficiency meant accidentally banging his lanky limbs on every possible surface—and hurries downstairs, bat and training bag slung across his back, hair sticking up every which way. 

Jaemin’s used to this comfortable routine by now; it should be second nature to him, but he goes through the motions much more sluggishly than he usually does.

He grabs his pre-packed lunch from the counter, yells out a clipped _Bye, mom!_ and waltzes out the door.

Coach Seo found it essential that every team member to get their daily dose of cardio on their way to training, so he’s made it a requirement for them to jog to school every Saturday. Jaemin scoffs as he bends down to re-lace his sneakers. _No way am I running today,_ he thinks, and sets off at a leisurely pace.

As he weaves through the throng of people on their way to work, he can’t seem to get his mind off of that boy— _Renjun_ —from the night before. He’s so deep in his thoughts, sucking absentmindedly on the straw stabbed into an empty carton of banana milk, when he almost misses his stop.

Jaemin sidesteps the little kids screaming and fooling around by the train station, and Renjun’s soft laugh worms its way into his ear.

Jaemin smiles and waves at the grandmothers crocheting under the shade of a picnic umbrella, and Renjun’s own smile is seared onto Jaemin’s eyelids.

He’s about five paces from the school gate when he realizes that he isn’t red in the face or wheezing for breath like he should’ve been if he’d run to school like he was supposed to. Mark catches him doing burpees by the water fountains and squats down in front of him to help him count.

When Jaemin deems himself appropriately sweaty, he bends over, hands on his knees, and sucks in a huge breath. Mark tosses him a chilled Gatorade from his backpack. Jaemin nods in thanks and takes a look at his watch. They still have twenty minutes to kill before training starts. The two shrug off their bags and sit cross-legged on the grass.

“So,” Jaemin asks, cracking open the bottle of Gatorade in his hands. “How was the party?”

Mark, always so bright-eyed and fresh, launches into a detailed run-down of everything that had happened the night before, from the kid who had accidentally broken his mother’s favorite vase— _he didn’t even apologize, the asshole_ —to the neighbor who had called a noise complaint on them— _he was just jealous of all the girls we were scoring, dirty old man_ —and Jaemin shakes his head in astonishment.

“Wow,” he hisses, taking a swig of his drink. “That’s _fucked._ How are you not in deep shit right now?”

Mark shrugs and moves to get up, dusting off his shorts. “I ‘dunno, we TP’d the old prick’s house so I guess he just kept quiet. Now he knows not to fuck with us, I bet,” he chuckles, slinging his bag onto his shoulder and shooting Jaemin with a finger gun. “I’ll see you later?”

“Hold up!” Jaemin calls, jogging to catch up to Mark. “There was this kid who says he was at your party, but I’m not sure if you know him,” he says, fingering the strap of his bag. “I just might,” Mark says, crossing his arms. “Go ahead, shoot.”

Jaemin clears his throat. “Do you know a Renjun?”

Mark frowns in thought, scratching at his nose. “Renjun? As in, Chinese boy Renjun?”

Jaemin stills. So the boy wasn’t just a figment of his imagination after all. Hearing that name come from someone else all but proved it. Renjun wasn’t just some hallucination Jaemin had conjured up in the idle hours of the morning. His stomach swoops, and he doesn’t know if he wants to burst into relieved laughter or throw up the remains of his Gatorade onto the grass.

“Why?” Mark asks, a single brow raised in curious interest. Jaemin shakes himself out of his stupor and sends him a distant smile. “It’s nothing really. Look, I gotta go. My house after school?”

Mark nods and Jaemin watches him go. Suddenly, his phone buzzes in his pocket and he looks to find a string of texts from Donghyuck wondering where the hell he is. He glances at his watch and curses. He’s five minutes late.

When he finally dashes onto the field, cleats half-on and jersey carelessly unbuttoned, the team is halfway through warming up. Coach Seo makes him do a plank in front of everyone else and starts lecturing him about the importance of time management and punctuality, and Jaemin feels his face heating up when his teammates snicker at his unfortunate situation. 

When the man’s back is turned, he shifts all his weight on his right elbow and flips the people behind him the middle finger. Jaemin can practically _feel_ Donghyuck gagging in mock repulsion, and he makes it a personal note to have the boy’s shoelaces tied together by the end of the day.

When the coach finally sends him off with a gruff hand on his shoulder, Jaemin springs to his feet and groans at the twinge in his abdomen.

“Coach fucking _blasted_ you, didn’t he,” Donghyuck teases, slapping Jaemin on the shoulder. Jaemin reaches up to thumb at the pitiful Band-Aid plastered on Donghyuck’s temple in retaliation. Donghyuck jumps back with a hiss, hands cradled protectively over the wound.

“Ow,” he cries. “The hell was that for?” Jaemin bends down and reaches for his toes. “I just felt like it,” he hums, fingers wrapping around his ankles. He straightens back up and locks an elbow around his arm, stretching out his joints.

Donghyuck bumps him on the shoulder with his own, a teasing smile on his face. “What do you look so thoughtful for? It’s not as if you think about much anyway.” He trails off when Jaemin casts him a searching look over his shoulder. Jaemin briefly considers telling Donghyuck about Renjun when he hears the shrill screech of Coach Seo’s whistle. “Later. It’s time to go,” Jaemin says, jogging to the center of the field. Donghyuck follows with a contemplative shake of his head.

  
  
  
  


Jaemin collapses on the grass with a huff. Donghyuck nearly crushes him under his weight as he throws himself across Jaemin’s stomach, and Jaemin shunts him off with a yell. He absently scratches at the skin on his nose and hisses at how tender it is. He’d completely forgotten to pack sunscreen in his morning rush, and the spare tube he kept his locker had already run out.

“So,” Donghyuck starts, snatching his cap off his head and fanning himself with it. The sweat has matted the hair around his head, and he looks like a wet dog. Jaemin tells him as such, and Donghyuck shoves him with his leg. “Pray tell, what perplexing observation has planted itself in the ever-so enigmatic Na Jaemin’s head?”

Jaemin groans in distaste, wrinkling his nose. “Midterms are over, Hyuck. I’m so over AP English, and you should be too.”

Donghyuck sticks out his tongue at him and rolls over onto his stomach. “Nah, but seriously,” he says, pillowing his chin on his palms. “What’s up? You were kinda distracted today.”

Jaemin dismisses it with a flippant wave of his hand and jumps to his feet. “Race you to the showers. Loser has to pay for pizza,” he calls out, setting off into a run. He hears Donghyuck sputter behind him and lets the door swing shut.

He weaves past the towels and training bags strewn haphazardly on the locker room floor, and the hiss and splatter of steaming hot water on tile fades behind him as he makes his way to his locker. 

His jersey is halfway off his shoulders when he overhears the tail end of someone’s conversation on the other side.

“…went to Mark’s party? How was it?”

Jaemin steps out of his trousers.

“It was okay. It only got interesting around two in the morning ‘cause there was a fight. I was gone by then, though.” 

Jaemin slings his towel around his hips and makes his way to the last empty shower stall.

“A _fight?_ Between who?”

Jaemin cups a hand underneath the running water to test the temperature. When he deems it hot enough, he steps under the spray with a sigh of relief.

“That one guy we played against last season. Lee Jeno, I think? And his ex, apparently. They were both tripping out real bad. Guess it got ugly.”

Jaemin’s mouth goes dry. _It couldn’t be—_

He knew he had a penchant for over-analyzing things, but he really couldn’t help it. He watches the water spiral down the drain, and suddenly every single second of the night before comes crashing over him like a wave. He hurries to rinse the shampoo out of his hair and slams the shower door open.

He nearly lets out a yelp when Donghyuck claps him on the shoulder, hair soaked and smug smirk plastered on his face. “You took too long, so I made it out first,” he brags, carelessly pulling a stick of deodorant out of his bag. “Hurry up, broke boy. Mark’s waiting outside.”

  
  
  
  


Jaemin finds himself staring vacantly up at the ceiling, fan whirring above his head. His phone lights up with a notification from where it’s rested on his chest, and he sighs in frustration when he realizes that it’s just Donghyuck drunk-texting the group chat about some guy he’d made out with. He doesn’t even know why he’s so on edge.

He switches his phone to mute, and he watches it buzz nine times in quick succession after that. 

It’s been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since Renjun. Jaemin knew that it was just a one-off thing; an unforeseen circumstance that the boy had climbed into his window instead of Chenle’s. Yet Jaemin had kept waiting. Waiting for what, he didn’t exactly know. For a word of thanks? For an apology? For Renjun to somehow fall out of the sky and into his lap?

He’s startled out of his reverie when he hears rhythmic tapping on his window. He rushes to open the blinds and squints out at the darkness, searching for something, _anything,_ and suddenly there he is.

Crouched underneath Jaemin’s windowpane, cheeks flushed and hair boyishly mussed. Jaemin unlatches the window and reaches out a hand to help him up.

Renjun tosses him a cheeky grin and uses Jaemin’s grip on his wrist to pull himself up the rest of the way. He gets down off the windowsill much more gracefully than the last time, even turning to slide the window shut. He steps over the minefield of teenage untidiness that is Jaemin’s bedroom floor and twists to land face-down on the mattress, toeing his sneakers off.

Jaemin is bewildered, having watched the entire scene with his mouth hanging open, and plops down onto his swivel chair.

“You—“ he stutters, heart rabbiting in his chest. “You’re here.”

Renjun’s head lolls around and he fixes him with a bemused smile. “Yes, I am,” he says, clasping one of Jaemin’s pillows in his grasp. His eyes are clear this time, and his cheeks are ruddy from the crisp autumn air. He looks—

“—good,” Jaemin mumbles absently. Renjun tilts his head in confusion. “What?” He rasps, rolling onto his stomach.

Jaemin’s face heats up. “You look good, I mean. Like, you look fine,” he stutters. “Which is great, because the last time you were, uh, yeah…” he trails off, chewing on his bottom lip.

Renjun hums in acknowledgement and rolls over onto his side, facing away from Jaemin. He’s wearing a flimsy white t-shirt this time, and the moonlight cutting through the slats in his blinds curves over the soft planes of his shoulderblades. Jaemin makes it a mental note to reprimand the other boy on his choice of clothing, because he was going to freeze to death at this rate.

“Why are you here?” Jaemin wonders, absentmindedly flicking his desk lamp on and off. “I’m too fucked up and I climbed the wrong house again,” Renjun answers, back still turned. Jaemin scoffs. _You look perfectly fine to me,_ he thinks, glaring at the boy making himself comfortable on his bed.

They stay in silence for a while, Renjun with his eyes to the ceiling and Jaemin with his eyes on him, and he can _feel_ the distance between them. The distance he knew could bridge if he ever so pleased, and if he only had the courage to just reach out and _touch._ But he doesn’t.

Renjun rolls over onto his stomach once more and his eyes rove around Jaemin’s face, seemingly searching for something, but Jaemin’s eyes are fixed to the wrinkles in the blanket by Renjun’s knee.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Renjun asks, fingers idly tracing patterns on the sheets.

“No, not really,” Jaemin replies.

  
  
  
  


Jaemin wakes up with an ache in his neck and a crick in his spine. The sun is still resolutely below the horizon and the street outside is doused in darkness. He’d fallen asleep on his study chair while Renjun was going on about the party he’d been at earlier in the night. 

Jaemin stretches, popping the joints in his back, and sighs in content. A chill drifts into the room and Jaemin shivers. His window is open by the slightest crack, and he sulkily plods over to shut it.

He draws the blinds and clambers into bed. He tries to ignore the faint scent of roses and cinnamon filling his nose, and he falls back into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK THOTS LMAOOOOOO this shit took a long time and it isn't even that good WHOOPS oh well,,, ive been busy all summer But Am Back Now Pls Enjoy

Some nights, Renjun would crawl through his window, reeking of whatever debauchery he’d been partaking in only a few minutes prior, and collapse in a heap on Jaemin’s bed, babbling his face off. Other nights, he’d end up rolling over onto his stomach on the carpeted floor, fawning over Jaemin’s heated flooring. Tonight is evidently not one of those nights.

For the first time since he’s met Renjun, they’re outside his house.

They make their way through the darkened streets of Jaemin’s neighborhood, Jaemin tensing at each rustle in the bushes and Renjun loping along casually beside him.

Renjun glances left and right before making a break for the convenience store across the highway. Jaemin has no choice but to follow. 

The neon sign hanging by the door flicks on and off, on and off, casting a hazy red over Renjun’s face. Renjun‘s lips are pressed into a thin line. There are flecks of gold dotting his cheeks. Jaemin catches himself staring and averts his gaze, embarrassed. His eyes dart around the eerily empty parking lot as Renjun pauses to tie his shoelaces. Jaemin shoves his hands deep into his pockets, searching for some semblance of warmth. The midnight air is chillingly cold, and the autumn wind bites at his nose. 

Renjun gets up, brushing invisible dirt off his pants, and shoulders his way into the convenience store. Jaemin hurries in after him and the door swings closed with a _whump_ , the bell above the door announcing their arrival.

Renjun walks in with purposeful strides and ignores the greeting drawled out by the pock-faced teenager behind the till. The grimy store lights wash him out and colors his hair a dull black. He heads straight for the back of the store where the alcohol is undoubtedly kept. Jaemin stands awkwardly off to the side by the magazines, leaving Renjun to traipse the aisles alone.

The hushing of the boy’s track jacket breaks the silence with his every step, and Jaemin watches the way he skillfully pockets a Snickers bar in no less than a few seconds.

Jaemin trails along behind him, sneaking a handful of Jell-O into his back pocket and grabbing a bag of chips so as to not look suspicious. He moves toward the cashier to pay for the chips when a row of faces taped to a corkboard catches his attention. Renjun seems to have seen it too, the way he’s looking at it so intently. According to the Post-It tacked above the board, it’s a list of people banned from the store. Jaemin can’t seem to identify any of them until—

Jaemin’s eyes widen in recognition. It’s Jeno. More specifically, it’s Jeno’s mugshot. In the photo, he seemed to have just been in a scuffle, hair mussed and lips twisted into a scowl. A picture of a pack of cigarettes and a carton of banana milk is stapled on the bulletin board next to it. 

Jaemin eyes Renjun warily. Renjun seems to be frozen in place, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. He stares at the photo for a long while, and before Jaemin can think to say anything, he leans forward and presses his fingers to the glass. 

Jaemin looks away and hurries past Renjun to the counter. As he’s ringing up his purchase, he can't help but to shake off the feeling that he’s witnessed something he shouldn’t have.

When he comes back to the board to get Renjun, plastic bag in hand, the smaller boy is among the snacks two aisles away, and the word _DICK!!_ is scrawled across Jeno’s face in what seems to be ketchup.

  
  
  
  


As his weekly visits continue, Renjun has decided to claim Jaemin’s bed as his own, and Jaemin was resigned to sitting on the chair or the floor. Sure, it wasn’t comfortable, but Jaemin oddly found himself too enamored to care.

Renjun makes a beeline for Jaemin’s bed, crawls under the covers, and smothers himself with blankets.

Jaemin nearly spits out the water he’s drinking when Renjun violently rolls over in his self-made cocoon and scoffs when Renjun teases him over how skittish he’s being. Jaemin retorts with the fact that Renjun was, in fact, the stranger who had barged into his home, which Renjun dismisses with a laugh and a flippant wave of his hand. 

They’re quiet for a while, Jaemin too anxious to disturb whatever fitful peace seemed to have settled over them and Renjun too fucked up to attempt to formulate a proper sentence.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Renjun drawls, breaking the hefty silence, and Jaemin alarms at the low, resentful tone his voice had taken. 

“Me neither,” Jaemin laughs nervously. “I don’t know why you’re still in my room, and—“

Renjun shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he rasps, and suddenly Jaemin feels something weigh heavy in the pit of his stomach. It’s just that Renjun sounds so _sad_ , and it’s eating at him knowing that something he’s said caused it somehow.

“I’m a fuck-up,” Renjun grins up at him, teeth bared and dimples crinkling his cheeks, but his eyes are dead. Whatever alcohol or drug that had been coursing through his system seemed to have worn off, because all Jaemin could see on Renjun’s face was pure, unadulterated _hurt_. And not even at something he’s said, but even then he can see that it's a hurt so deep, it wouldn’t even matter. 

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Renjun perks up, having come up with a grand idea. He sits up, the blankets sliding off his shoulders and pooling around him. 

“The night is still young,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. There seems to be no trace of that muted, unnerving hurt from earlier. “There’s a party a couple blocks away. You should come with me!”

Jaemin balks at the suggestion, still reeling over the sudden change in the other boy’s demeanor. 

“I can’t,” he frowns. “I have training tomorrow.”

Renjun’s already on his feet, hopping on one leg as he shoves a foot into his sneaker. 

“You can afford to miss one day,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing the hoodie Jaemin had draped over his headboard. “Besides, I want you to meet my friends!” He rummages around in Jaemin’s closet for a bit, and resurfaces with a pair of jeans, ignoring Jaemin’s squawk of indignation. 

As Renjun roots around in the shelf of his bedside table for a gold chain, Jaemin finds himself seriously considering the possibility of dressing up and going to said party. _After all_ , he thinks to himself. _It’s been a while since I’ve last gotten properly trashed_. 

He looks up at Renjun’s beseeching grin and immediately decides he has no choice. He sighs in resignation and Renjun tosses him a white t-shirt.

Renjun’s looking up directions on his phone when Jaemin’s finished dressing up. The boy shoots him a smile and a thumbs up at his outfit, and slides open the window.

  
  
  
  


Jaemin can hear music when they’re about a block away from the party.

He recognizes the beat from Mark’s warm-up playlist, and finds himself rapping softly along.

When they reach the front yard, it’s painfully obvious that there’s a party going on inside. 

Red cups are strewn on the grass, cigarette butts are scattered along the driveway, and there are about six people outside the house either making out, throwing up, or doing some odd combination of both.

Renjun blows a kiss in greeting at two of the girls smoking outside, and leads Jaemin up the steps to the door. Jaemin can feel eyes on his back, and he turns to see the girls staring intently at him. One of them shoots him a coy smile, and a shiver goes down his spine. _Looks like I’ve still got it_ , he smirks to himself, leisurely giving the girl a head-to-toe. 

He turns back to Renjun, intent on finding out the girl’s name, when he finds the boy looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Jaemin suddenly recalls seeing the exact same look on his face only thirty minutes ago, framed by the blankets on his bed. His chest seizes, and he feels guilty. For what, he doesn’t know.

Renjun almost looks like he regrets bringing Jaemin here. 

“You okay?” Jaemin asks, brows pinched in genuine concern. 

Renjun seems to snap out of his daze, and nods, smoothing his hair away from his face.

“Yeah, for sure. Let’s go!” he chirps, and pushes the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont worry fam this will get better. Trust


End file.
